


don't believe me, please

by vanishingxact



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 14:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19725562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishingxact/pseuds/vanishingxact
Summary: Whew, sorry if this reads as terribly to everyone else as it does to me. I don't like this at all, but I'm working on scraping off years of rust and its all part of the process, eh?





	don't believe me, please

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, sorry if this reads as terribly to everyone else as it does to me. I don't like this at all, but I'm working on scraping off years of rust and its all part of the process, eh?

Whenever Roger imagined having to do this, he never gave much thought to the setting. And if he had, he figures it would have been in some sterile hotel room, perhaps in London in November when the weather may reflect the dread and gloom of his soul. It wouldn’t have been here, not on a gloriously bright July day in the Mediterranean. Not in this place where the world is as close to perfect as it can get, blighting the beauty and serenity with the horror of what needs to be done. Not in Rafa’s home.  
  
A voice comes from deep inside the house behind him, but Roger doesn’t turn to answer. Rafa emerges out in the daylight with him, his face still pillow creased but his eyes bright with the simple joy of being here in his home with his lover. Roger can’t stand to hold his gaze and lets his eyes slip back down to the shoreline beyond the balcony. “You didn’t say good morning,” Rafa teases, pressing himself against Roger’s body like a cat. There’s playfulness in him of a morning here in the summer, but Roger can sense it fade almost immediately when he doesn’t receive much response at all. “Grumpy today,” Rafa mutters, more to himself than to Roger.  
  
Roger turns around and pulls Rafa into his arms, wrapping him up so tight that he can feel the tension begin to bloom in Rafa’s muscles. “What happened?” Rafa speaks quietly with his face turned into Roger’s neck. “Nothing,” Roger says, and then he loosens his arms. “But I’m... leaving. You. This.”  
  
At first it’s hard to tell whether Rafa has heard him at all because he seems almost frozen in place; he doesn’t move, he barely even seems to breathe. But then he slowly withdraws, and his expression is unreadable for perhaps the first time in all the time Roger has known him. “What?” Rafa says carefully, and Roger wonders if he’s offering him a chance to take back what he said. “What the _fuck_ are you saying?” Rafa splutters, the emotion boiling out of him in an eruption as he grasps Roger’s shoulders and shakes him. Roger’s heart begins to race and his mouth goes dry, but he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say and so he simply shakes his head. Rafa doesn’t seem to want him to speak anyway.  
  
“You really gonna do this, Roger?” he asks through gritted teeth, his hands now balled into fists resting against Roger’s chest. “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you mean it.” Rafa is shaking his head, and there are tears blurring Roger’s vision despite his best attempts to keep a firm grasp on his emotions. “I’m sorry, Rafa. I love you, I’m—“ Roger silences himself at the look on Rafa’s face. “Shut up,” Rafa breathes. “You gonna leave? Then go, leave.” Rafa shoves him hard in the chest and Roger catches his wrists, then slides Rafa’s hands into his and brings them up to his lips. Maybe the tenderness is a cruelty now, but it’s always been part of who they are.  
  
Roger kisses each knuckle individually on Rafa’s left hand before they fall together, the sobs vibrating through Rafa’s rib cage. “I don’t believe you,” he says again, and Roger feels it crack something in the depths of himself. “Maybe you shouldn’t,” he whispers while they sway there together under the vast expanse of the azure sky.


End file.
